


A Breath of Fresh Air

by Ginnybag



Series: Five Beats [2]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Breathplay, Dom/sub Play, M/M, S&M, Submissive!Treize, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginnybag/pseuds/Ginnybag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening lets Treize and Zechs explore the limits of their relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath of Fresh Air

In the ordinary day to day of things, the collar was hidden by the neat folds of the general’s snowy white cravat and by the stiff, leather-backed lapels of his uniform jacket. It sat, narrow and unremarkable, against the delicate skin of his throat, merely an unusual bit of jewellery should anyone happen to catch a glimpse of it.

It would take an astute observer to realise that the subtle, silvery metal of the collar was the same as that of the mask that concealed the features of the general’s top pilot. It would take an even more astute mind to understand the significance.

Suit quality titanium, cool and light. The material that had allowed both men to carve the places that would let them change the world; the material that let them both play Icarus, flying on false wings.

That might be understood, but not the rest. Not that Treize had chosen the metal to represent all the things that drew himself and his lover together, to represent all of the things that should have kept them apart. Not that the two pieces never saw use at the same time, for one was exposed only when the other was removed. And not that the two men used collar and mask to hide their deepest, most secret selves. The world saw Zechs’s mask but only Treize saw the man underneath it, and the world knew General Khushrenada but only Zechs knew the man who wore the collar.

The symbolism behind it all soothed the poet in Treize and gave free reign to the side of him expressed through his roses and his opera. It bothered him not at all to wear what most would have called a mark of ownership. Zechs owned him anyway, through friendship and shared history and love – the collar was merely a reminder of that truth, comforting and real.

Sitting on the edge of the overstuffed couch in his borrowed rooms, the fire crackling in the background and the book and blanket of his wait for the younger man abandoned in a heap on the floor, Treize drew a slow, deep breath. Zechs, kneeling in front of him on the rug, smiled sweetly at the sound, his fingers making light work of the last of the buttons on Treize’s shirt.

His hands slipped under the crisp fabric a moment later, skimming over the trim lines of the general’s belly and the warm skin of his spine. They slid into his hair, thumbs against the delicate bones behind his ears and fingers twisting into the gingerish locks, as Zechs knelt up, parting the older man’s knees as he leaned in to him.

“Was your day so bad?” he asked, voice a murmur. “You’re all over tension.”

Treize smiled, shaking his head against Zechs’s hold. “If you will be late…,” he answered coyly.

Zechs’s eyes flicked to the carriage clock on the mantle, noting the time with his glance. His face showed his momentary surprise at the lateness of the hour but then he shrugged carelessly. “Anticipation has never hurt you yet,” he said softly. “Quite the contrary, in fact. I find it leaves you…eager.”

Treize lifted an eyebrow at the teasing tone from his lover, holding himself completely still otherwise. Zechs was right, anticipation did leave him eager, but patience had always been a virtue. He would wait for Zechs to do what he would, as always. “Are you playing with me?” he asked curiously.

The smirk that touched Zechs’s lips at that was wicked, a little evil. “Not yet,” he promised. His hands left Treize’s hair as he spoke, his palms warm and soft against the general’s neck as they wrapped around it. His right settled to tilt the older man’s head to one side, Zechs’s thumb against Treize’s jaw line, his fingers tucked under his ear and the heel of his hand just pressing against his throat. Zechs’s left, dominant, hand closed against the back of his commander’s neck, palm to the base of his skull as clever fingers worked the hidden catch on the collar, lifting and tightening it.

Zechs watched as Treize’s eyes flickered closed and his lips parted a little, a soft flush rising under the alabaster-pale skin as he shivered. He wondered whether it was the collar or his hands that were responsible. It could be either, or both, as suited whichever way out Treize had decided to be tonight. It was a trait of his delightfully passive-aggressive personality that he was fussy in his triggers, and what barely got a reaction in one encounter could knock him straight into mindless, wanting surrender the next.

But whether he was imperiously topping from the bottom – and he was highly strung enough to be dreadfully demanding sometimes – or tied down and begging through tears, Treize was a natural submissive physically. Zechs had been besotted with the quality since his discovery of it at fifteen, utterly captivated by the way his friend yielded control of his own body.

What was the core of his need to be collared and bound? Why did having a metal strip around his throat, one just a hair short of being so tight he couldn’t breathe, make Treize gasp and tremble? Zechs didn’t know, but he did so enjoy playing with it.

He did know that his liking for it came from two sources – the power trip of controlling his lover in such a way, and the faith Treize showed in him by letting himself be controlled. A professional soldier and he was sitting with another man’s hands around his throat? Like Treize himself, Zechs was trained to kill and his hands were more than strong enough to do so. From his current position, it would have been all too easy to choke the general or break his neck, and yet Treize wasn’t resisting, wasn’t saying no, wasn’t doing anything but sinking into the responses of his body with complete abandon.

Caught by his own feelings for his commander, Zechs let his grip relax, dropping his hands to Treize’s shoulders for balance as he licked his lips and then gave him the first kiss of the night. His mouth brushed the pale skin below Treize’s collar, kissing the line where it normally rested.

Treize shuddered against him, moaning breathlessly, his own long-fingered, elegant hands closing on Zechs’s shoulders in turn. “Oh,” he sighed softly, much of the tightly strung tension in his body draining away in a rush. “Miri….”

Zechs smiled softly, content with the sudden certainty that the evening wouldn’t end with their usual laughing tumble but with the far more careful, meaningful exchange of slow, gentle lovemaking. Treize, it seemed, was inclined that way for the night and Zechs had always prided himself on his ability to judge his lover correctly.

It was definitely no bad thing but, if he’d known, Zechs might have left his paperwork until the morning. Encounters such as this was shaping up to be were rare and priceless but they were time-consuming, needing the two of them to synchronise their moods and wishes to communicate without the clumsiness and unsurety of words.

Feeling warm and strangely settled, Zechs only chuckled indulgently when Treize moved against him restively, making some small, broken noise as he drew air. “Kiss me,” the general murmured, pleading for proper contact between them rather than Zechs’s meaningful teasing.

Inclined to grant the request – there would be time enough to make Treize really beg for what he wanted later on – Zechs lifted his head from his commander’s throat, idly examining the reddening mark he’d left. It would bruise lightly by morning, twinging just slightly every time Treize moved and the collar rubbed over it. Moving slowly, Zechs rested one of his hands against the side of the Treize’s face again and used it to hold him in place as he bent forwards and kissed the older man on the mouth as requested.

The first contact was so light and so fleeting that it was barely there at all, more a breath of warm air against sensitive skin than anything else. Zechs brushed his mouth across the redhead’s a second time a moment later, pressing a little harder, and then let himself settle in place, opening his mouth to flick his tongue over Treize’s.

The general was passive under Zechs’s hands for almost a full minute before he began to relax, his only response in his deepening, quickening breathing and the occasional wordless murmur. Zechs was just beginning to wonder if he hadn’t judged the older man right after all when, between one breath and the next, the very last of the tension in him ebbed away and the kiss became fluid and easy as Treize melted into the familiar pattern of touching.

He gave over control to his pilot immediately, letting Zechs tease and encourage until he had Treize’s hands wound into his hair and the general shifting restlessly under his own. Treize shivered as the blond let his fingers wander over his commander’s body, tangling in the unbuttoned shirt and tugging it away before stroking and skimming the warm skin and lightly defined muscle. The older man gave a choked whimper and Zechs came up off his knees, breaking their kiss to settle on the couch at Treize’s side so that they could wrap around one another properly.

Treize immediately ducked his face into the curve of Zechs’s neck, hiding the rest of the world from view with his long, platinum hair.

Zechs looked down at him with fond indulgence; that was a demand to be cuddled if ever Zechs had seen one. Apparently, Treize had decided in his usual whimsical fashion that he was to be petted and made much of and was soliciting the desired attention in his own disingenuous way. He made a small noise as he did it, a little humming puff of air that reminded Zechs of nothing so much as the mewing of a cat, and the blond smiled to himself. There always had been something very feline about his friend in Zechs’s opinion, from his continual fussing over his appearance to his crafty way of getting what he wanted. Like many a pampered puss, a pleased Treize was all placid contentment and affection, the very picture of selfless devotion. Only when it suited him did you learn to watch for the claws.

Perhaps that was why he fit his collar so well.

Sighing benevolently, Zechs folded his arms around the other man closely, settling his hands in the middle of his shoulder blades and rubbing a little. “You’re going to be hard work tonight, I can tell,” Zechs murmured quietly.

Treize arched into the touch, shivering under it, and then lifted his head to look at his lover with languid eyes. “Am I? I don’t mean to be,” he protested plaintively.

“Yes, you do,” Zechs chuckled in reply. “You just don’t think I’ll notice.”

“I’m sorry?” Treize offered, and Zechs laughed outright. For a man five years his senior in age and who commanded one of the most complex and elite military units ever established in history, Treize was entirely too good at making himself seem young and helpless.

Deciding the man’s attempts at manipulation deserved a response in kind, Zechs hooked his first two fingers into the back of the general’s collar and gave a gentle tug. The digits took up space that wasn’t really there, putting pressure on Treize’s throat, and the tug applied enough force that, just for a moment, the older man couldn’t draw breath. The general’s hands went automatically to the front of the collar, instinct demanding he clear the restriction, but he didn’t cough or splutter as would be expected, or scrabble at the metal fruitlessly.

As Zechs watched, Treize went wide-eyed, his entire body shuddering in sudden reaction. The mist of sweat that broke across his skin would have been caused by panic in anyone else but Zechs knew it wasn’t anything so unpleasant in his friend. “Behave,” he warned, pitching his voice low and determined with deliberate care, and was rewarded when the other man’s shoulders hitched with the startled gasp he would have given if he could have.

The proof of the true nature of his reaction was in the moan he gave when Zechs released him. The sound was soft but it was needy and just slightly ragged. It made the blond revise his estimates for the night. Treize might be wanting considerate lovemaking between them but he wasn’t about to object to a firm hand on his body, either.

He gave the general the few moments he needed to take the fast, deep breaths triggered by the fleeting impression of airlessness, and then leaned forward, caught the redhead’s face between his hands and kissed him again.

Treize fought the hold for only a fraction of a second before his body went limp, yielding all control to his friend again instinctively. He made some small, meaningless sound as the kiss deepened, opening his mouth to the other man as he met and matched the enthusiasm Zechs was pouring into his kiss. Arousal built swiftly, heat teasing along nerve endings and sensitising skin, and Zechs knew Treize would be finding his grip on himself slipping away, his awareness of anything other than Zechs and what he was doing drifting as he disconnected from the world around them. The blond wasn’t sparing him, wasn’t being gentle, for all that his hands were tracing Treize’s back and chest restlessly and expertly. He knew exactly how best to touch the older man, too, certain of just where to stroke or scratch or nip to set the redhead to trembling in his arms.

Not that Zechs was unaffected himself. The pilot had locked a punishing grip onto Treize’s shoulders when he’d kissed him, seeking for balance, leverage and control and if it was going to leave bruises, then Zechs knew Treize didn’t, and wouldn’t, care.

Besides, it had been released quickly enough, so that the blond was free to send his fingers to torment instead and now, as the kiss continued, Zechs suddenly let one hand slide from its work so he could wrap his arm around the smaller man’s waist. The soft, wordless noise he made as he pulled Treize into him, letting the redhead feel the full warmth and strength of his body through his clothes, was one of real pleasure. Zechs was moving without intent, little shifts of his body against the older man’s, and his breath, too, was coming in pants.

 Zechs felt Treize sway where he was sitting, his balance skittering dizzily and he caught him with the grip around his waist, providing support before the arm tightened and lifted, pulling the smaller man closer until he had no choice but to tuck his legs under himself and shift until he had one knee on either side of Zechs’s hips. Immediately, Zechs used his free hand to keep Treize in place as he rocked up into him, and then he tossed his head back against the cushions of the couch, groaning. “God, Treize, that feels good,” he moaned.

Treize trembled at the words, his peculiar wiring allowing almost anything that pleased his lover to please him as well. He cried out softly as Zechs pulled him closer, reaching with one hand to unfasten Treize’s trousers. For a moment, it was obvious to Zechs that the redhead couldn’t decide where his focus should be and, caught, he indulged in rare moment of unprompted action and leant forward to turn his head into the curve of Zechs’s shoulder again.

Warm breath teased at him for a moment before Zechs drew a sharp breath as Treize set his teeth against the gold-cast skin of his neck, biting lightly. The sharp, threatening scrape was followed by a soothing kiss and then delicate lapping, Treize taking the salt and the scent of him from his skin as carefully as he would have sipped a fine wine and with just as much appreciation. The gentle suction seemed to draw something out of Zechs, swirling warmth rising slowly, flushing through his body from his throat. It made his breath grow shorter and his hand lift to cup the curve of Treize’s head, holding him in place as the older man moaned softly and bit a little deeper.

There was a lot of truth to the old axiom that a person touched their partner the way they wanted to be touched. Zechs had never particularly enjoyed either pain with his sex or the idea of being marked and Treize knew it, but he was deep enough into the haze he seemed to slip into when they played like this that he wasn’t thinking. Instead, he was subconsciously dropping the blond hints. It was fun and it felt good for the moment, but Zechs knew Treize would cross the lines of his comfort zone quite quickly in his need to answer his own impulses.

Still, the older man was a delightful weight in his lap, not so heavy, despite his height, as to be uncomfortable and wriggling with every breath he took. He did something – bit deeper, pressed with his tongue, shifted his weight, Zechs didn’t know – that sparked electricity down the pilot’s nerves, leaving him tossing his head back against the couch again and shivering. “Gods,” he moaned again. “That’s….”

Treize lifted his head curiously, a darkness in the eyes that fixed on Zechs’s face that told the blond his friend was sinking into his peculiar disconnected fog faster than Zechs had been expecting him to, particularly given their playing with Une at yesterday’s conference. What on Earth had the older man been doing earlier in the day that had left him like this? He was always responsive as a lover, especially when Zechs decided to accommodate his submissive side, but it wasn’t often that he let go so quickly and so thoroughly. He was almost a doll like this, nothing more than a toy to be played with, prettily posed in his half-fastened breeches and his collar, his self-awareness and forceful personality lost somewhere under the cries of his body.

If Zechs so chose, he knew he could push the general until he broke, stripping him of everything that made him more than just a plaything for the pilot. The right stimulation would leave him helplessly surrendering to anything Zechs wanted to do to him, so far gone that he didn’t know anything but the sound of the blonde’s voice, the feel of his hands and the overriding compulsion to do everything he was ordered.

Treize was ready for it, that much was obvious by the strength of his reactions and, looking at him, Zechs knew he was right to be taking the evening in that direction. It was rare for his lover to come over like this so rapidly unless he really needed the release.

“That’s what?” Treize asked quietly, breaking into Zechs’s thoughts. The blond was glad to hear him speak. If he could phrase his question so coherently, then he wasn’t quite so far gone as he looked. “Please tell me?” he requested.

Zechs raised an eyebrow speculatively. “Why should I?” he enquired sharply.

Treize bowed his head immediately. “Forgive me,” he apologised softly, looking up through his eyelashes. “I only wanted to know if you liked it and if I should continue.”

The general’s words made Zechs bite his tongue to keep from smirking. Treize always had done respectful provocation very well. His words were polite, his tone of voice deferential but who’d ever heard of the supposed submissive asking questions and making suggestions? It was a beautiful way of needling someone and it worked as well on his superior officers in the Alliance as it did on anyone attempting to top him. The trait made Treize a bit of a brat, in Zechs’s opinion, but he was charming enough with it to be forgiven.

Eventually. The relationship between the two men wouldn’t have worked nearly so well if Zechs hadn’t been prepared to make the general suffer for his sassiness.

The blond lifted the other eyebrow to match the first, letting the look in his gaze convey a silent warning to the other man, promising and threatening dire consequences if he carried on. Depending on his exact mood, Treize would respond with either a more daring challenge – practically a version of, ‘Oh, really? Go on, then!’ – or with contrite capitulation.

Zechs would use the reaction to set the tone for the rest of the night. A rebellious Treize demanded stiff correction and an attitude in response that would brook no nonsense. Their evening, if that were the case, would be fast-paced and full of rough treatment, only getting down to things once the redhead had been forced into cooperation. It was a scene they played semi-regularly and with great enthusiasm.

If, however, the older man still wanted the gentle, more significant exchange he’d seemed to at first, then he would yield without being made and Zechs would adjust his behaviour accordingly. That Treize didn’t welcome violence, didn’t need or want to be hurt – he sought only to be controlled, firmly and with great care. Zechs had once heard the approach described as binding with velvet chains.

It was no surprise at all when the general dropped his gaze at the chiding look, his whole body sinking into still obedience. Treize’s challenging behaviour had been a momentary impulse and not a change of mood on his part.

The pilot smiled at his commander warmly, lifting his head again by touching him lightly under the chin with his forefinger. “Better,” he said approvingly, and then kissed the redhead again.

Treize melted into him. He’d made his wishes clear and he and Zechs had been together long enough that he would have read Zechs’s intention to answer them just from the tone of his voice or his posture. There was no need for him to retain any semblance of control over himself anymore – until they were done, that was the pilot’s job, and Treize trusted him to do it perfectly.

Still, when Zechs shifted to deepen their kiss, he felt Treize give the suppressed struggles that suggested he was drowning in it. He was being swamped by heat and scent, Zechs knew, and he would be unwilling to break their kiss to draw breath, even as he desperately needed air to steady his swimming head. Zechs had often heard Treize say that he smelt of wood smoke and burned gunpowder, an appropriate scent for his effect on his lover in moments like this one. Perhaps it was true, because the sound that rose from the back of Treize’s throat was high pitched and agonized, something he would have been embarrassed to call his own on any other day.

And perhaps, he was not quite gone enough into the disconnection he needed for such intensity. As Zechs shifted again, Treize finally made himself pull away from his lover’s kiss to rest his head against the blonde’s shoulder again. It wasn't resistance, precisely, just a request for a moment’s reprieve.

Zechs let him move as he wished, giving Treize a little space to settle himself, as he listened to the steady whisper of the general’s breathing. There was a particular mindset he needed from his lover for the kinds of games they played together and, sometimes, it took Treize a few minutes to find it.

Not that Zechs was expecting it to take anything like that long this evening – Treize had been flirting with the edges of it almost since they’d hello. If the pilot hadn't been making plans for the rest of the night that needed the older man to be as perfectly open and relaxed as he could get, the blond could probably have pushed him where he needed to be with little effort. As it was, though, it was better to give him a few seconds to centre himself and then take his achievement of it as something of a gift.

It was something he’d seen in the older man hundreds of times now, to the point where he knew how far gone Treize was just by the look in his eyes or the way he was standing, but the first time he’d encountered it had been a complete surprise.

It had been an accident, of course – a lot of the cause had been Treize’s reluctance to spook his less experienced teenage lover. There was an age gap between the two men that, at fifteen and almost twenty, had meant Treize was very aware of his unusual tastes long before Zechs was near old enough to be a partner in them. Wary of disturbing the pilot, the general had neglected to mention his tendencies at all save for confessing that he quite enjoyed being taken when they were in bed together.

Reflecting back, with what he knew now, Zechs knew that the older man had just about been asking for something to happen. His submissive streak wasn't a matter of personal choice or even especially one of personality at all; it was hard-wired into his body. The blond had been bound to trip it sooner or later.

During an evening that had been one of Zechs’s greatest sources of solo fantasy ever since, Treize’s playful teasing of the blond had resulted in the younger man becoming unbearably frustrated. Pushed beyond endurance when Treize made as though he was going to walk out of the room and leave his friend high and dry, Zechs had gone after him, made a grab for his arm and hauled him to a stop inches from the bedroom door. He’d expected Treize be quite annoyed with him for his rough shaking and sharp demands for the general to stay and do something about the state he’d gotten Zechs into but that hadn’t been the reaction he’d got at all.

Braced for an explosion of affronted temper, the blond had been about to add a desperate ‘please’ to his words. He’d been stunned when, a moment later, his lover had shivered from head to foot, his eyes cloudy as he sank to his knees on the carpet. The remembrance of Treize’s breathy, “Yes, sir. Forgive me?” still had the power to get Zechs hard almost four years later.

It had been instant, irrevocable love. Treize had spent so long repressing his need to submit that he’d dropped at the slightest provocation deep into what Zechs had learned was called ‘subspace’ and instead of being horrified as Treize had feared, the pilot had taken it only as his cue to throw himself into learning about the phenomenon.

Reading about submission had lead to thoughts on dominance and then to demands that Treize find Zechs someone who could show him what to do properly. Bemused, Treize had begun arranging secret visits to some of the clubs he’d previously visited alone, introducing the blond to one or two of the people he’d ‘played with’ regularly.

But regardless of how well and how thoroughly Zechs had educated himself, subspace wasn’t something he’d ever managed in himself. The general had tried to teach it to him, almost as though it were a meditative discipline, when they’d begun deliberately playing games with each other but they’d finally concluded that Zechs just didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t ‘disconnect’ or ‘let go’ or ‘float’ or any of the other dozen ways Treize had tried to explain it, and in the end the redhead had labelled him ‘painfully toppish’ and dropped the subject altogether.

Fortunate, then, that what Zechs wanted to do to his lover tonight needed Treize completely under and Zechs himself absolutely clear-headed and in control.

As Treize lifted his head from Zechs’s shoulder, his eyes empty of everything but need and his face a blank, Zechs nodded appreciatively, took another kiss and then used his hands to draw the older man’s arms behind his back and cross them there at the wrist. The narrow bracelet Treize wore on his left wrist was cold under the younger man’s hand.

“Keep them there,” Zechs ordered. “You aren’t to move unless I tell you to.”

“Miri….” Treize’s voice was little more than a whisper, his breath catching.

Zechs released the general’s wrists, knowing that Treize would hold the posture he’d been commanded to without the benefit of any actual restraint. The blond could have tied him, they’d leaned from experimentation that their uniform cravats made adequate substitutes for ropes or cuffs, and both of them were wearing their belts, but it suited him better to ask the redhead to restrain himself. It was far more fitting a start to the rest of the evening.

“Don’t move,” Zechs reinforced, and then bent his head to the other man’s skin.

Fitting his hands to Treize’s waist, Zechs held his commander still as he rained a pattern of little kisses across his collarbone. The older man was jumping with every touch, Zechs could feel the start in the muscle under his lips and hands but the reactions didn’t spread as far as making the general flinch visibly. Treize had good enough control of himself to suppress it.

Zechs smirked – that wouldn’t last or he wasn’t doing his job right. Tightening the grip he had with his right hand, Zechs let the other wander over his commander’s body, seeking out sensitive spots to stroke and scratch. At the same time, his teeth began to bite gently at the older man’s throat, working over the blossoming mark of his earlier attentions and then moving to the other side to leave another to match.

Zechs let his smirk become a smile as his ears caught the slightest hint of a cut off whimper in Treize’s gasp. He hadn’t ordered Treize to keep quiet and he wouldn’t – he liked making the older man moan – but apparently the commander had decided to extend the restriction himself. That was all right, Zechs would be quite happy with making him lose that control as well.

Delivering a final nip, Zechs took a moment to focus his own concentration, then lifted his head just slightly. “Treize,” he murmured softly, letting the warmth of his breath brush the older man’s ear. “Treize, are you listening to me?” He settled his free hand against the back of the older man’s head.

Treize nodded immediately.

Zechs stroked the red-tinged hair once. “Good,” he murmured warmly. “Do you trust me?” he asked quietly, and when Treize nodded again, he let his hand slip until his fingers could close lightly around the older man’s throat. “How much?” he continued softly.

In answer, Treize shuddered, his whole body caught in the involuntary wave of movement, his breath hitching against the pilot’s hand and then leaving him in a low moan. “Oh, yes. Yes, please,” he begged, his voice no more than a whisper.

Zechs nodded, pulling back enough that he could see his lover’s face. Treize’s eyes were wide, fixing on Zechs’s as soon as it was possible, and the expression behind them was intense. If Treize’s agreement had been fervent, then his gaze was desperate.

Testing – he needed to be sure – Zechs tightened his grip, putting the first hint of pressure on the older man’s carotid artery and windpipe. It was the same thing he’d done earlier with the collar and the effect was the same as well. Treize jolted as he tried to draw breath and couldn’t, his body tensing in an instinctive reaction he fought to check. Zechs could feel him struggling to suppress his need to grab at the pilot’s hands, to hold the position he’d been asked to, and it fired heat through his own body.

Resisting his own impulse to tighten his grip as a bad idea with his fingers against his lover’s throat, Zechs let his hands fall away from their grasp instead, watching and listening as Treize drew a first ragged breath. Under the pads of his fingertips, Zechs could feel the older man just beginning to break a sweat, fight-or-flight instincts turning his soft, dry, silky skin damp to the touch just as it was raising his heart rate and need for oxygen. A lovely flaw in the human body, that; to react to the loss of air by demanding more of it.

“You’re sure?” Zechs asked, when he thought Treize would be able to answer him again, and the older man nodded immediately.

The blond let himself smile softly. “All right.” His left arm slipped around Treize’s waist again, palm flat against his spine as icy blue eyes studied the older officer for a moment. Treize shifted his position just long enough to let Zechs find his grip, and then settled back to the pose he’d been ordered in to.

The fingers of Zechs’s other hand traced a teasing path from Treize’s hair to his mouth, the smooth, manicured nails light against delicate skin. The first and index fingers settled across the general’s lips for a moment before slipping away again, and down. “Breathe for me,” Zechs murmured. “Five and five, in and out.”

Midnight eyes fluttered closed as Treize swallowed carefully, breathed out completely, and then begin to inhale again slowly. He didn't need a verbal count to hold the rhythm, hadn't for years, so Zechs settled for counting silently in his head. For the first few breaths, he marked off the five seconds of inhalation, noted the momentary pause, and then marked the five-second exhalation as well, before abandoning the scrutiny in favour of more entertaining uses for his concentration. The check had been a matter of safety, in any case, and not a lack of trust – it was part of his role to make sure the rhythm was a pleasant strain, being too slow and not deep enough, rather than genuinely uncomfortable.

It was foreplay for true breath control just as much as the way Zechs began to nip and stroke the older man’s body again was for their lovemaking, and the mildest, safest form of it. Zechs kissed a dancing line along his commander’s collarbone and felt the older man begin to sway in place slightly as the forced breathing pattern began to work its magic. Practiced, and expecting it, Zechs used the hand around the redhead’s waist to support him and slid the other into the opened fastening of his breeches.

It was wicked of him to time it so, something his sudden little smirk admitted to, but then, he wasn't there to be nice, per se. The blond had played around with his lover’s kinkier side enough that he knew what Treize would be feeling – a swirling, almost drunken light-headedness that was already starting to magnify every sensation. It was almost cruel of Zechs to go for so sudden and direct a touch, but it was the _almost_ that made it fun.

The sensation was shocking, as it had been intended to be, and this time, even Treize couldn't suppress his reaction. His body jumped, his breathing pattern breaking for a sudden, hitching gasp. He held his posture – just – but even there, he had to lock one hand around the other to keep from reaching out instinctively for a balancing hold on something as he gave a shiver head to foot.

The redhead’s lips parted in a moan he didn’t let himself voice, the flush under his skin deepening another shade. He picked up his slow in-and-out pattern again immediately but it was short on the count he’d been given and something more of an effort to hold to.

Zechs gave the older man a few moments to settle, letting his hand rest lightly against skin without moving. If he’d needed proof his commander had been planning something for this evening, he’d just had it – either Treize had been walking around half-dressed all day, or he’d stripped and re-dressed sometime before Zechs’s arrival, but it was definitely one or the other because he wasn’t wearing damned thing under his uniform pants.

The fond exasperation the scheming caused made Zechs chuckle a little – there was that lovely passive-aggressive tendency again.

“I seem to recall,” Zechs murmured, putting his mouth against the older man’s throat and breathing the words into his ear, “having a conversation about this manipulative streak of yours.” His tone was softly menacing and it made Treize shiver a little in response between his careful breaths. Zechs knew his head would be swimming by now, the only steady things in his world the touch of the younger man’s hands on his skin and the sound of his voice. Zechs had used that against him in the past, more than once; had talked him into coming without ever being touched just by drawing on the fixation whilst he held the older man close and Treize controlled his breathing as he’d been ordered. “You weren’t trying to force my hand by dressing this way, were you?”

His shiver becoming a steady tremble of need and not a little fright, Treize raised widened eyes from his dazed stare down at the hand Zechs was touching him with, blinking like a man waking as he gave a shake of his head.

“No?” the blonde repeated aloud. He locked his eyes with the older man’s, staring intently into the darker reflection of his own gaze, probing and searching. “Liar,” he hissed a moment later, and moved.

Treize gasped as Zechs let go of his waist, rapping him on the wrists hard enough to break the hold he had on one hand with the other. Instinctively, the general reached for something to grab hold of for balance, sinking his fingers into the material of the thin t-shirt Zechs wore under his uniform as the blond moved. Treize’s world undoubtedly reeled as the younger man pushed him over, following him instantly, away from the couch and down to the floor in front of the fire.

The force Treize’s back hit the carpet with was jarring, forcing a soft cry from him as the air was driven from his body for a second. His grip loosened, he reached automatically to secure it again and Zechs checked the movement by catching his slender wrists in his hands and pinning them to the carpet either side of his head. The weight of his body kept Treize’s trapped.

The pilot was taller than his commander, and heavier, and the weight and the warmth of his body full length against Treize’s were something Treize always said was wonderful. It was a sensation he had confessed he had a secret addiction to – that, and the feel of Zechs’s strength a match, sometimes more than a match, for his own. In his dazed state, he didn't quite check the instinct to wriggle under the restraint, pressing himself to Zechs wantonly and making some small noise of pleasure at the feel of his skin against Zechs’s body.

Zechs chuckled darkly, all his silvery mass of hair falling forward over his shoulders in silky sheets that glowed in the light thrown from the fire. The ends of his hair tickled Treize’s shoulders as Zechs leaned over him, cool and soft as it formed a temporary curtain between the two men and the rest of world, leaving them with nothing to do for a moment but look at one another.

“I knew you were going to be hard work tonight,” Zechs said softly, when a few seconds had passed.

Treize blinked, not really focused enough to be able to answer, and then let his eyes drift closed properly when Zechs gave another dark chuckle and let go one of wrist in order to stroke mussed strands of reddish hair back into place gently.

“But that would be why I love you, wouldn't it?” the younger man continued quietly, and then bent his head to kiss his lover.

Treize sank into the kiss completely, whimpering as he tangled his free hand in Zechs's white-gold hair for a moment, holding his pilot to him. A moment later, it dropped to tug at the t-shirt the younger man was still wearing and Zechs took the hint without needing to be told, and without choosing to punish Treize for his demand when one look into his eyes told him he would get nothing else so proactive from Treize that night. Breaking his kiss just barely long enough, he pulled back, let his commander go and yanked his t-shirt over his head, tossing it across the room somewhere.

It was a matter of a few seconds work to sit back enough to pull the rest of their uniforms from their bodies, Treize co-operating as he was directed to by gentle touches. When he was done, Zechs gathered the older man back up, rolling him onto his side and lying down next to him.

Zechs kissed his lover again as he reached a hand back towards the sofa and found the tiny bottle of lube Treize had stashed under the cushions, ever planning in advance. He’d have tucked it there at the same time as he settled in to wait, Zechs knew.

A press of Zechs’s thumb freed the lid and the silky liquid the bottle contained tipped onto his fingers freely, rapidly picking up the heat of his skin. It was so well-formulated a thing that it felt barely there when Zechs dropped his hand to his own body, stroking his till-now neglected erection with slippery fingers.

He moaned a little at the sensation of his hand on himself, forcing himself to stop teasing himself before he really began. It wasn’t so much effort, not with Treize pliant and placid in his arms, tucked next to him on the thick, soft rug, utterly willing as Zechs drew him in, guiding one long leg to wrap around his hip and Treize’s hands onto his shoulders.

Willing, though, wasn’t the best description. Willing implied Treize had some conscious choice, some conscious agreement in what was happening and he’d long since passed the point of that. Zechs didn’t know what the correct word was – he’d never been able to turn quite the right phrase for it – but as he settled himself into place and then began to sink his body into his lover’s smoothly, it was enough that Treize simply was how he was.

The redhead accepted him easily, his body yielding to the gentle pressure Zechs exerted with very little resistance. It was a measure both of how utterly relaxed Treize was and of their experience with each other that they could do this with so little fuss and effort, needing none of the customary methods to ease things first.

It was also, Zechs acknowledged as he gave them both a moment to draw a first breath together before he pulled back a little, yet more evidence of Treize’s delightful deviousness – and the reason he’d been so tense on Zechs’s arrival. Sometime this evening, most probably whilst he was showering away the day’s work, he’d tapped another of his little vials of lube and done most of the customary preparation himself, ridding the younger man of the mood-breaking necessity and leaving his awareness of certain parts of himself overly sensitised. Every time he’d moved as he waited for his lover, every time he’d shifted how he was sitting or stood up to take a step, Treize would have been reminded of his efforts on behalf of their mutual enjoyment and his need would have grown just that little bit more.

Zechs knew he couldn’t have done it if their positions had been reversed. He didn’t have the patience or the self-possession to stand the slow burn of such mounting frustration – but he wasn’t beyond enjoying the results, or beyond taking pleasure in the mental images he suddenly had of Treize shifting against his couch half-uneasily.

The pictures of what Treize must have done to himself in the name of his preparation – and whether he’d done it all with his own hands or with the aid of his select and highly secret little collection of ‘toys’ – Zechs immediately decided he would save for the next time he was stuck on some mission halfway around the world from his lover.

His wicked little smirk touching his lips again, Zechs let his body sink in and out of the older man’s for a minute or two in an easy rhythm, pleased when Treize began to move with him and when the older man picked his carefully controlled breathing count again. He waited until Treize gave just the slightest gasp on the end of one of those breaths, his fingers tightening on Zech shoulders fractionally, before he leaned down to the older man and kissed him gently.

Treize’s eyes were closed, fluttering back and forth beneath the delicate skin of the lids, the reddish lashes vivid against the paleness of his cheeks, but he opened them as Zechs broke the kiss.

“Good,” Zechs murmured. “Look at me, love.”

Hazy midnight eyes locked onto his immediately as Treize obeyed the younger man’s command without the slightest trace of hesitation. Zechs smiled his approval and lifted his left hand from where it had been resting on Treize’s waist to comb it once through the general’s hair again. Treize arched into the touch, moving his head to follow Zechs fingertips as they stoked behind his ear, along his jaw to rest across his lips, much as they had earlier.

“Breathe out,” Zechs instructed softly, feeling the moist warmth against his palm as Treize complied. “Don’t inhale until I tell you to,” he added. He pressed down slightly with his hand as a physical reminder and was rewarded with the older man shuddering underneath him a little.

Zechs waited until he could feel the older man fighting against his need to struggle, his body beginning to clamour for the air he was denying it, and then he lifted his fingers from his lover’s mouth, moved them to block Treize from breathing through his nose and took a slow, deep breath himself.

Letting the movement press his body deeper into the older man’s at the same time, Zechs bent down and put his lips to Treize’s in something that wasn’t quite a true kiss but which was possibly more intimate than any kiss between them could ever be. Parting his lips just a little, Zechs whispered, “Breathe for me,” and let himself start to exhale slowly.

Treize took the air Zechs gave him, using it to quell almost all of the tremors in his body. He sighed softly as Zechs lifted his head enough to breathe again, and the expression in his eyes was so perfectly trusting and open that Zechs couldn’t help but smile at the older man and settle the two of them more closely together.

Zechs resumed the rhythm of his body into the general’s, sparking pleasure through both of them in increasing waves, each movement that little bit faster, deeper and more intense than the last, even as he ruthlessly controlled his own breathing and, by extension, Treize’s. The redhead drew breath only from Zechs, depending on the air his lover gave him entirely. He wasn’t quite – yet – putting his life literally in his pilot’s hands, but it was close enough and, in some ways, required far more of a demonstration of the utter faith in one another they had.

Zechs kept it up until his body was beginning to tighten towards release and his head was beginning to swim from the lack of air, knowing that however much he was feeling things, it would be far more intense for Treize. It was that awareness of his partner that had led to the older man labelling him a natural top years before, and it was the same fine judgement that had him releasing any controlling grip on the general suddenly. As Zech’s hand fell to his shoulder, Treize was free to move and to breathe and to respond exactly and only as he wished for the first time all evening.

The momentary liberty and the sudden rush of air went straight to Treize’s head, making him arch his back in pleasure, crying out softly as he sank one hand into Zechs’s heavy hair and gripped, hard.

Zechs watched him closely, following the cues Treize probably didn’t even know he was giving until the older man was hovering right on the edge of his climax and the pilot wasn’t terribly far from his own.

As Treize tensed to breaking point, drawing in a gasped breath, Zechs bore down with his weight to check the movement as his hand suddenly locked into place against the general’s throat, pressing the metal of his collar into the fragile tissues.

Treize suddenly found he couldn’t breathe at all and, this time, he couldn’t stop his body’s instinctive reactions. He struggled, fighting the hold Zechs had on him with quite some force. The fingers in Zechs’s hair tightened painfully and only Treize’s other hand, wrapped around the one Zechs had against his throat and pulling down for more pressure gave away his mindless and absolute enjoyment of what the blond was doing to him.

“That’s it,” Zechs encouraged, his whisper ragged around the edges as he clamped down with his fingers, watching as the older man’s skin flushed deeply with the strain and his eyes began to glaze with the first loss of consciousness. “Let go.”

There was more than one meaning to the words when the two of them played like this. Zechs was a skilled and practiced enough partner that he had timed things perfectly. A split-second after Treize’s body shuddered with the first notes of his release, he paled, gave a shiver of quite another cause and went suddenly, utterly limp.

Zechs caught him by slipping the hand on his throat to the back of his neck to support his head, snapping his hips forward to sustain the older man’s orgasm and trigger his own. Treize came, Zechs a half second behind him.

Treize wasn’t unconscious long, no more than a few seconds at most, coming to almost as soon as Zechs released his grip on his lover’s throat. The general gasped as he came out of his momentary black-out, exhaling in a plaintive cry of pure pleasure.

Zechs’s moan echoed it on a deeper note, and then both men gradually went still, Zechs letting Treize sink back against the softness of the rug and following him so they were still wrapped closely together even when Treize was lying prone.

The general’s breathing was ragged, his skin damp with sweat and flushed in the glow from the firelight. It was an appealing picture, and made Zechs smile as he gazed down at his lover with gentle eyes.

“Better?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Treize replied unsteadily and closed his eyes as shivers began chasing across his skin.

“Good,” Zechs murmured. He waited a moment, until he’d pulled himself back together a little, and then pushed away from the older men onto his knees, reaching behind him to grab for the blanket Treize had abandoned.

“Come here,” he instructed, holding it out, and then wrapping it around his lover when Treize struggled into a sitting position himself. There was no strength in the general, and there wouldn’t be for quite awhile, but that was hardly something Zechs was going to complain about. Half the reason he played with the older man the way he did was to see him like this, defenseless and half asleep.

Treize folded into Zechs’s hold as soon as it was offered, as willing as he had been all evening, closing his eyes as Zechs picked him up, stood, and then settled them both into the softness of the couch, pulling the older man half on top of himself as he stretched out full length.

Treize made some wordless protest about something; probably, Zechs realised, thinking that the blond intended for this to be the rest of their night and not happy with the idea of falling asleep as sweaty and sticky as he was. It had happened before – it would again, if Zechs let it, since Treize had no hope of moving under his own power for a good long while – but the pilot knew his lover well enough to know that it would leave the older man grumpy and out of sorts, feeling itchy and uncomfortable in his own skin for most of the next day.

Despite all that, Zechs wasn’t quite willing to let go of the mood between them just yet and he answered Treize’s next murmur of compliant by cuddling him closer. “Hush now,” he soothed, stroking damp strands of reddish hair back into some semblance of the style they’d started the night in. “I’ll run you a bath in a little while, but not yet. Give me a moment or two, hmm? You were the one insisting upon patience earlier.” He dropped a fleeting kiss on the top of the general’s head. “Besides, if you move too soon, you’ll make yourself ill, so you’ll just have to stay put for a bit.”

Treize grumbled again, a low stream of words that Zechs was sure included ‘bossy’ and ‘commanding officer’ in their midst, but he shifted his weight to more comfortable position and yawned softly.

Zechs chuckled at the display, then set a mental reminder not to doze too long before letting his eyes close, his lover’s breathing warm and rhythmical against his skin.


End file.
